Wednesday, 23 March 2016

So, today is a fairly
pants day. Those close to me would say that I've been overdoing it
but how can I overdo things when what I do is a fraction of what
other people are capable of?

One thing I hate about
Meniere's Disease is being treated like I'm made of eggshell. I still
remember the days of my youth when I would cycle for miles and miles,
run with carefree abandon through fields of nettles and other such
youthful nonsense. Now, however, spending a morning staring at a
computer screen whilst entering invoices makes me want to vomit and
attending a comic convention for two or three days takes over a week
from which to recover.

So, I get told that I'm
overdoing it and I need to rest.

But what if I don't
want to? What if I want to live a normal life like someone without
stupid little sacs of imbalanced fluid inside their ears? Is that too
much to ask for?

I think not.

I don't want to spend
the day feeling constantly tired or depressed. I don't want to dread
having to cook my tea because that means standing up for half an hour
watching vegetables boil whilst the room is spinning.

Right now, I would kill
for normality.

But in doing so, would
I lose what I am, a survivor?

I have this constant
battle every day and, so far, Mister Meniere's has yet to win the
war. Yes, he may gain the occasional victory, but even now, sitting
here with the fug of gloom encompassing me, I know in my heart of
hearts that tomorrow will be
another day. I will meet people who shall make me smile and I will
receive all manner of cuddles and love from my furry friends.

So
yes, today is a fairly pants day.

But
that doesn't mean that tomorrow will have to follow suit.

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces at the following places:

Tuesday, 15 March 2016

The weekend just gone
saw Yours Truly in his natural habitat: the comic convention. I
pootled down to Liverpool for its first ever MCM convention. The
idea, as ever, was to introduce new readers to my books, sell fantasy
figurines and have a fun time making new friends and catching up with
existing readers and other traders.

However, I had a
stowaway in my little Citroen Berlingo.

Mister Meniere's.

When I leave the snug
safety of the protective cave that is my home, Mister M will always
try to do his best to ruin the event. This weekend was no different.
Setup for the convention was on Friday, so Friday lunchtime saw me
driving down the M6 with bells a-ringing and stomach a-fluttering. I
gave them the finger by turning the Pet Shop Boys up loud and singing
along to some camp eighties' classics.

Mister M was not
deterred so easily. After setup, all a tired Austin wanted to do was to crawl into his hotel bed and snore away the wee hours. At 2am Mister
M said it was playtime. The rest of the night was spent listening to
bells and voices stamping on my auditory nerves. So it was that a
slightly haggard Austin had to appear bright and breezy on the first
day of the convention even though, deep inside, he felt like curling
up under his stall and hiding.

As the day progressed
my emotional state declined and I started to question my whole career
path as Mister M cackled with glee in the corner and at six o'clock I
drove back to my hotel in an exceptionally bleak mood.

However, Mister
Meniere's had failed to take into account one crucial factor in his
plot to overthrow the happiness of Yours Truly: other people!

The next day saw me
stagger into the convention looking like Death's great uncle Horace.
The traders next to me chatted away and it turned out that they had
felt shocking the day before too. They had been tired from travelling
and the day had gone on far too long for them. Another trader came
and said, “Hi!” then went and bought me a decaf americano which
both warmed me and cheered me.

Then my readers came
and visited me. With each praise of my books and each purchase of my
latest escapade, Mister Meniere's was thoroughly thrashed into
submission.

By the end of the day,
I was somewhat weary but also bright and cheery. As I packed up and
headed home I couldn't help but whistle happily to myself.

So, to all the folks
who unknowingly aided me in my silent battle in Liverpool, all those
who came as unwitting knights in shining armour, I say, “Thank
you!”

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces at the following places:

Thursday, 10 March 2016

I sometimes get asked,
“Why are you a vegan?” Now, I have to say this isn't a question
that comes my way very often but, when it does, the part of me that is
British suddenly becomes very uncomfortable.

There are certain
things that Brits are known throughout the world for doing thoroughly
and with great style. Queuing is one of them – look at the lengths
we will go to for that new book or for a reduced price dishwasher in the
January sales. Complain politely is another – hence our abhorrence
for automated telephone systems (we would much rather have a nice
polite chap on the other end of the phone with whom we can discuss our
grievance in a civilised manner).

One thing we are not so
good at is expressing or explaining our personal beliefs whether they
be political, social or religious. We look at our American cousins
and shudder at the brash televangelists or we scratch our heads when
we see French lorry drivers blockading their ports. This sort of
thing tends to be inherently alien to us as we would much rather sit
at home and grumble into our newspapers about something rather than
grab it by the neck and choke it into submission.

So
when I get asked about my particular lifestyle choice, I tend to
stare off into the middle distance before giving a bemused shrug and
saying, “I just am.”

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces ate the following places:

Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Had a really good run
this morning even though Mister Meniere's was trying desperately to
convince me to remain in bed. He thought he had achieved a cunning
victory over me this weekend when he prevented me from going to see
Deadpool on Sunday and his hopes of hitting me around the head with a
large haddock were running high. However, both yesterday and today I
managed to drag myself, albeit somewhat unsteadily, out of bed and
today I even managed to reap a reward with an increase in my running
distance.

I was also treated to
this nice shot of the River Lune winding its way to the millennium
bridge.

Normally, Lancaster’s river is a fairly lazy beast – it
slouches down low in its bed and protests when it gets assaulted by
flocks of swans. However, just before Christmas last year, this
sleeping monster rose its head and burst its banks. A feat quite
unbelievable when you look at it in this picture yet something which
the city is still recovering from with many businesses still closed.

I see my Meniere's
rather like the River Lune. I'm always aware of its presence. It's
there, trickling away in the background with my tinnitus happily
jangling and jingling in my inner ear. Then sometimes there's a
splash and I suddenly feel dizzy or nauseous for no particular
reason. And other times there is a torrential downpour which causes
it to burst its banks and flood my senses with an overload of
saturated information. I collapse in a heap and retreat to the safety
of my bed for a number of days.

So, when this
inundation catches me off guard from time to time, I just pile up the
sandbags and hunker down in the knowledge that given time the
floodwater will recede and life will eventually return to what I
consider to be normal.

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces ate the following places:

Thursday, 3 March 2016

Another Thursday;
another run. Finally managed to kick Mister Meniere's out of the
driving seat and took full control, although it was rather
exhausting. Mind you I did manage to find a handy sign post to catch
a quick power nap against, so that helped.

Meniere's Disease is a
funny old thing. I'm constantly aware of its insidious presence:
tinnitus jangling away, that feel of travel sickness rolling around
in the background. However there are definitely certain things that
act as triggers and will inevitably cause a full blown attack.

I have two big fingers
on the trigger of my inner ear, both of which have been firing
potshots at me this week. First, the lack of sleep the other night
caused by a rampaging kitten (see Previously On Dizzy Deviant).
Second, and this can be the more debilitating of the two, the anxiety
caused by unfamiliar situations.

This weekend sees me
tootling down to Buxton for UNICON.
This was a last minute, spur of he moment decision which, at the time
of booking, felt like a great idea. However, as the days trotted
past, the subconscious of Yours Truly started to chip away at the
granite edifice of my confidence.

“What if they didn't
get your payment?” it would whisper. “What if traffic’s bad?
What if it's a dead loss? What if you get stranded in snow? What if a
meteorite hits the convention centre?”

So, by midweek, I was a
gibbering wreck and Mister Meniere's twirled his waxed moustache,
proclaiming, “Mwahaha! You are mine for the taking!”

Overthinking things
really is not a good idea…

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces ate the following places:

Tuesday, 1 March 2016

So, no running this
morning because my good, old, constant friend Mister Meniere's is in
the driving seat. I'm all bells a-ringing in my ears and I'm swooping
and swaying myself around the house as those little sacs of fluid
bang together deep inside my head.

It's funny how
something so small can cause such deeper repercussions. It's almost
like an ant overthrowing an international bank. There's a domino
effect of symptoms that lead onwards to the ultimate conclusion that
today is just not going to happen.

And what, may you ask,
caused this exacerbation of my lifelong condition? Well, it is small,
has four feet and a tail, is covered in soft, black fur and answers
to the name of Schroedinger.

Yes, I was bounced on
at two in the morning by an over-exuberant kitten. Now, if this had
been, say twelve hours later, I would have been, “Yo, Kitty! Let's
play.” However, in the supposed still of the night, his playful
actions were less than welcome and resulted with said feline being
shut in the dining room until sunrise and Yours Truly feeling like he
had just gone twelve revolutions on a waltzer.

But, hey ho, Schrodie's
cute and I always forgive him. It just means that today will see very
little work achieved.

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces ate the following places: